


Tell Them Stories

by Fox_In_A_Box



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Drabble Collection, Gen, Humor, Introspection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-08-05 06:34:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16362737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox_In_A_Box/pseuds/Fox_In_A_Box
Summary: A series of drabbles exploring a slightly different version of the Disc, where your soul walks (or flies, or slithers, or in some rare cases swims) right by your side.





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> I always wanted to write a Discworld daemon AU, but since I'm terrible at writing multi-chapter fics a collection of small drabbles is what you get. Hope you enjoy, tho!

Samuel Vimes' dæmon was a dog.

 

With her long snout, pointed ears and a mop of dark brown fur that more often than not ended up looking gray-ish thanks to Ankh-Morpork's characteristic cloud of dirt and smog, she could hardly be anything else. And if against all odds you still were to harbour any doubts about it, the loud barks that echoed through the dirty alleyways, terrorising unlicensed thieves and serial murderers alike, didn't leave much room for speculation.

 

What Vimes had never known for great part of his life, however, was _what kind of dog_ his dæmon was. Not that he had ever particularly bothered to inquire about it, that is. The mystery could have easily been solved with a quick visit to the 'animals and plants' section of the Unseen University's library, but for one reason or another he had kept postponing his research until he had completely forgot about it.

 

After all, as the Commander of the Watch in a city infamously known for its petty crimes, he had way too many things to keep track of to be able to afford wasting time with existential questions.

 

The only thing he was sure of was that his dæmon definitely wasn't one of those pathetic excuses for a dog that you often saw in the company of rich high-class ladies - more rats than dogs, really - and that was all that mattered.

 

The answer arrived, unexpected, one winter morning as Vimes was preparing to take his leave after a meeting with the Patrician.

 

"An Überwaldian Shepherd," Vetinari mused, "An excellent breed, from what I've heard. Renowned for their loyalty towards their master."

 

Vimes lingered on the doorway. Experience had taught him that Vetinari rarely said something without a reason. Maybe it was his way to test his character by observing his reaction to his statement. Or maybe he was just playing with him; it wouldn't even be the first time it happened. He looked at the tyrant in the hopes of understanding where he was trying to get with his remark, but the Patrician's smile was enigmatic as always.  


"I wouldn't know, sir."

 

He left the Palace with more questions than answers. Or rather, with only one answer to a question he had never been too interested in.


	2. II.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter and it's already the longest collection I've ever been able to keep up with lol  
> Hope you enjoy!

It was a known fact that all werewolves had wolf dæmons.

 

It wasn't a big problem in Überwald, where there was a pretty high chance that one in two people you met was either a werewolf or a vampire, but in Ankh-Morpork having a wolf trailing at your heel as you walked down the street was bound to attract wary -and in some cases outright hateful- glances.

 

Angua knew better than most.

 

Which is why the way the young watchman offered her a warm smile and a solid handshake on her first day of her new job caught her off guard. It would have been all too easy for her dæmon to leap forward and bury her white fangs in the neck of the poor hare sitting quietly by his side. Yet, there was no trace of fear in the young man's eyes, nor his dæmon betrayed any sign of unease.

 

She blamed herself for having even thought about. It only went to show that you couldn't fight your nature, no matter how hard you tried. And still, constable Carrot had trusted her enough to get close and even strike a conversation, when everyone else -even Commander Vimes, despite his best efforts- looked at her with suspicion in their eyes.

 

Later that night, with her eyes turned towards the moonless sky and her fingers idly running through her dæmon's soft fur, she decided that she would do whatever it took to show everyone that his trust hadn't been misplaced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos give me life.


	3. III.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand the 3rd drabble is here!

Dragon dæmons were rare. In fact, they were almost as rare as real dragons.

 

Many heroes and protagonists of ancient legends were said to have had a dragon for a dæmon; noble and powerful animals mirroring their bravery, symbolising the purity of their souls and helping them fend off against their foes with their sharp claws and fiery breath.

 

Some scholars argued that dragon dæmons had never existed in the first place, for a dragon's way to act and think rationally was too similar to a human's, and there was very little evidence to prove that allegedly documented cases of people with dragon dæmons weren't actually cases of people with pretty big lizards and a likewise big ego. The conviction was further solidified by the fact there probably wasn't even a single person living on the flat surface of the Disc who could have bragged about having a dragon for dæmon.

 

With the notable exception of Sybil Ramkin, of course.

 

Admittedly, the appearance of Sybil's dæmon wasn't exactly what you would picture when hearing word 'dragon'. Everything that made a dragon - well, a dragon, was there; from the leathery wings to the clawed paws, from the horns to the brightly-coloured scales. But it was all in smaller scale, usually found resting on her shoulder with his wings folded against his small body.

 

During her youth there had been no shortage of detractors, people whose envy pushed them to whisper all sorts of malicious words behind her back. And if she always offered them a polite smile and a kind word nonetheless, her dæmon wasn't nearly as mild-mannered.

 

All things considered, Sybil Ramkin and her dæmon were a perfect demonstration that sometimes size hardly matters; no one ever had the courage to argue with her after seeing her little dæmon breathe a huge cloud of fire.


	4. IV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one turned out longer than I had expected. Well, I have abandoned any hopes of cohesion for this collection a long time ago, anyway. As always, hope you enjoy!

There were many rumours about the Patrician's dæmon.

_Lord Vetinari doesn't have a dæmon._ False. Anyone with decent eyesight would have been able to notice the black raven usually perched on the tyrant's shoulder or on the top of his cane.

 

And of course, the very fact that his dæmon was a raven encouraged the spread of another set of absurd theories, the most common of which went as follows: _Lord Vetinari is a vampire._ It was mostly based on the old stereotype according to which all vampires have grim, dark-coloured dæmons; a stereotype that somehow persisted in the minds of many people, despite glaring examples of the opposite, such as Lady Margolotta and her Bengal cat.

 

The ones who were skeptical about this claim, however, were pretty sure that Vetinari having a bird for a dæmon was a clear sign of him being a witch.

 

It seemed like it was harder for the citizens of the Disc's biggest metropolis to believe that Lord Vetinari's dæmon was just that - a dæmon like any other, and not some mysterious, occult creature revealing dark secrets about the human she accompanied. How could anyone blame them? Admitting that the Patrician had a perfectly ordinary dæmon would have meant admitting that the Patrician himself was nothing more than a perfectly ordinary human being.

 

Since he wasn't the type to be bothered by other people's assumptions, Vetinari never confirmed or denied any of them. If anything, he was amused by the lengths even some of the most respectable citizens went to demonstrate the plausibility of their theories, often sparking endless arguments after which all the participants walked back home, each of them still firmly believing their opinion to be the only one that mattered, none of them willing to admit that there might have been a grain of truth in their opponent's thesis.

 

"But what is truth, after all?"

 

"I beg you pardon, sir?"

 

The Patrician looked away from Ankh-Morpork's cityscape and turned his back to the window, so that he could face the young man standing in the doorway of his office, his own bird-dæmon by his side.

 

"Oh, it's nothing, Drumknott. Just thinking out loud."

 

The clerk nodded and crossed the room to place something on the desk, before walking out as quietly as he had walked in.

 

Vetinari sat down and, as his dæmon fluttered her wings and settled on the back of his chair, turned his attention to the thing - _newspaper_ he had heard them calling it - his secretary had brought him. The words THE ANKH-MORPORK TIMES were printed in big, black letters on the front page. Just beneath them, the title of the main article declared: "Shocking reveal about Lord Vetinari! Old lady claims to have seen his dæmon change shape when no-one else was looking! What does this say about the ruler of our city?"

 

The Patrician and his dæmon exchanged a look, and he couldn't help but smile to himself.

 


	5. V.

The laws of narrative causality, despite not having a mind of their own, are known for loving to take advantage of anything that can be made into a pune, or play on words.

 

That is probably why Rufus Drumknott's dæmon had settled into a secretary bird the very day he had submitted his CV to apply for a job at the Palace.

 

Her appearance was as odd and unusual as her human's was plain and unassuming. General consensus was that they made for a pretty odd pair, even more so when compared to the Patrician and his raven dæmon, all jet-black feathers and curious eyes.

 

General consensus was also that there _had_ to be a reason that went beyond the politeness of his manners and his ability to anticipate his master's orders before he even spoke, if Lord Vetinari had made him his secretary and right-hand man.

 

The truth, as it were, was that Vetinari had chosen Drumknott over a dozen other candidates purely because he had been curious about the young man with the unusual dæmon - and if there was one single temptation the Patrician couldn't resist, it was satisfying his curiosity. Well, that and the fact that he found it awfully amusing to have replaced his old secretary and his viper dæmon, with someone whose soul had judged appropriate to take the form of a bird renowned for its ability to stalk and kill snakes in the wild.

 

Much to Drumknott's credit, the Patrician never had a reason to regret his decision. If anything, he was pleasantly surprised when one night, upon hearing some commotion coming from the Oblong Office, he found himself looking at an unexpected scene.

 

The clerk's dæmon, usually so calm and collected, had a would-be-assassin's weasel dæmon pinned to the ground with her claws and fluttered her wings menacingly every time she tried to squirm away from her hold. As to Drumknott himself, he seemed to be handling the situation quite well, in spite of his complete lack of assassin training, by keeping the poor man at bay with a very sharp-looking pen.

 

When Vetinari met his eyes, Drumknott looked _mortified_.

 

"I'm sorry your sleep was disturbed, sir" he hastily said. "I will dispose of him immediately."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uuuuh this one wasn’t actually planned but my love for Drumknott came back in full-force after I gave him a cameo in the last drabble, so I felt like I had to give him his 300 words or so in the spotlight too. That, the fact that I had been keeping the secretary bird pun for myself for too long.


	6. VI.

William De Worde had never thought about his dæmon being perfect for eavesdropping until Sacharissa mentioned it almost casually, one warm spring morning, as she sketched the first draft of her latest article for the Times. Her cat dæmon was curled in her lap, lazily swaying his tail back and forth.

 

"It's almost as if she was made for it," she remarked.

 

William wanted to scoff at her. It was a silly notion. Dæmons aren't 'made' to do anything, other than offer support and companionship to humans throughout their lives. A man with a wolf dæmon wouldn't be justified for savagely attacking another citizen in light of his dæmon's form, nor a girl with a magpie dæmon would be judged less severely for stealing a few shiny gems from the window of a goldsmith. A dæmon is not an excuse - that's what his father used to say.

 

Yet, he couldn't help but cast a glance towards his dæmon, a colourful hummingbird preening her feathers on his shoulder, and realise that maybe, just maybe Sacharissa had a point. Having a dæmon so small it could easily go unnoticed had its perks, and while in his teenage years she had used this advantage to hide from the bigger, louder dæmons of his classmates, the more William pondered about it, the more he convinced himself that they both had been blind to the possibilities.

 

It didn't take long for them to discover that very few people paid attention at a tiny bird flying close to them, close to their mouths and to their windows as they conducted their private business or had all sorts of interesting conversation believing to be out of earshot.

 

The first few times it shameful, it felt _wrong_ to use his own dæmon to collect information behind people's back. But as time passed and incredibly successful headline followed incredibly successful headline on the front page of the Times, that little twinge of guilt he felt whenever his dæmon flew back to him with a new piece of amazing news became an insignificant price to pay compared to the feeling of pride and satisfaction that came from writing long, detailed articles exposing yet another ploy some dishonest citizen had been hoping to hide from the people of Ankh-Morpork.

 

It was indeed true that sometimes the end justifies the means. And, as far as William and his dæmon were concerned, there was no nobler purpose than to reveal the Truth to the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who has been re-reading The Truth? Yeah.


End file.
